One More Night
by livingforfomas
Summary: You and I go hard at each other like we're going to war.


_Inspired by a Tumblr challenge of sorts… _

_One More Night_

The bell sounds for the scrimmage to begin and you and I go hard at each other within this simulated home invasion. It's a commonly used system in Auror training, but for us…

It's like we're going to war.

A curse flies past my ears, just nearly nicking a strand of my hair. I think you're making a point of sorts after all of the cracks about the _mop_ I _can't seem to tame. _

I could very well have been severely injured by such a spell considering the damage it does on the wall behind me, but then again, you and I always did go rough.

My own curse flies with a bit more luck and you're stunned momentarily before your countercurses remove the immobility. I'm fortunate enough to witness that primal gleam in your eye as a warning before I know to find a room to plot my next move.

Quickly, I locate solace in a guestroom and brace my entire weight against the door.

A crash sounds behind me- perfectly level with the back of my head and I can't help but to smile despite myself.

"Throwing things, Malfoy?" I taunt easily. You're always so easily instigated.

"Slamming doors, Potter?" you retort. "Better not fucking hide when we're on the job, you coward!"

I snicker and turn towards the door. Perhaps this is a mistake, but I know the look on your face and I can't miss it.

Cautiously, I open the barricade between us and try my best at a Malfoy-patented smirk and eyebrow quirk.

It must be infuriating enough as you succumb to painting your arms across your chest, jutting your right hip forward, and pointing your nose to the air.

"A coward?" I question only a millisecond before crouching and launching myself towards your unprepared frame. We're toppled and flailing against the floor in a tangle of limbs after only a moment's passing- scratching and clawing at each other.

I can feel a welt rise against my cheek and a warm line of blood drip from the corner of my lip. You're no better as a rather large purple bruise is forming at your eye and I doubt from my line of fire it's the only mark you'll have.

Though, I tend to stay away from your face if I can help it. You're always such a child and have this ridiculous habit of not talking to me for a week if I leave something on that alabaster skin of yours.

This black eye may warrant a week and a half depending on healing time.

I've finally pinned your arms at the wrists above your head, and your legs submit beneath mine- accepting the iron cage surrounding you. Your breathing is labored and your pupils are dilated so drastically that only a mere sliver of silver remains.

It's an embarrassing discovery to realize my own arousal as well. My cheek warm immediately and you chuckle darkly, thrusting upwards. I hiss at the contact and lean in beside your ear before licking the shell- careful to conceal the action from anyone observing the simulation.

"Don't test me, _Draco._"

A groan escapes your lips and the following huff tells me you've regretted your carelessness. I can't decide if I'm more attracted to your lack of control or your stubborn disappointment.

_You and I are so damn dysfunctional. _

The buzzer sounds again and I back away as gracefully as I can given my condition.

"_Good work, Auror Potter. That's twenty-four to twenty-one," _our onlooker comments mechanically.

"I thought we stopped keeping score," you mumble, and wipe the back of your sleeve across your bleeding nose. "_What the fuck, Potter_?"

Your screech would be alarming on the field, but we're under the Ministry's care and, honestly, it's too difficult to contain myself.

"C'mere," I usher, rolling my eyes and strolling over to where you've taken some resemblance of a proud stance- arms crossed tightly over your chest, chin at my eye's level, and peaking downwards through your nearly invisible lashes. I take your face in my hands and examine my work. You hate being handled like this, but I'm insistent. And you're reluctant to admit it isn't so bad to have someone watching out for you. I grit my teeth as I discover you may have a mark for weeks at the top of your lip. Without much thought, I lean forward to press a kiss to the wound, but fortunately you've enough wits for the both of us.

"Potter?" you mutter uneasily. I shake my head and you remove my hands from your face, placing them carefully at my sides. We don't speak- it's an odd sort of silence. Something hangs in the air, but it isn't the sort of pregnant pause of strangers, nor the lighthearted quiet shared by lovers. It's tense, but common- even if the reason has yet to reveal itself. "Perhaps we should get to the infirmary."

You haven't let go of my hands and I don't remind you as you lead us towards the medical ward of the training center.

Sort-of funny to walk through the door of an old, seemingly abandoned home and into a sterile set of offices. No one bats an eye at our contact, most Aurors develop an intimate sense of companionship in each other.

Perhaps not as intimate as us…

Despite the false bravado, you're always nervous around the Healers. You're terrified they'll find something wrong- something they can't fix. An impulsive squeeze encompasses my hand and I offer a sympathetic smile.

"You'll be fine."

You nod once and square your shoulders. "Of course I will." That second squeeze holds promise.

And there you go again making me love you.

* * *

I try to tell you 'no' while simultaneously backing you into the nearest corner of my flat. Apparently, my body would like to say 'yes.'

My shirt's already been forgotten and you've begun a path across my collar and back again.

I want to tell you to stop, but your lips have me so out of breath. Hard to imagine I could have been without you only an hour ago.

But, that's the life we lead in the field. Neither of us knowing whether or not we'll survive until the next raid- the next kidnapping- the next, the next, the next…

Your fingers thread through my hair and yank none-too-gently. I retaliate in ruining one of your favorite shirts- the sound of buttons bouncing across the floor and your snarl echo in the otherwise silent house.

"That's a Ministry shirt, Potter! How do I explain another one? There are only so many werewolves that attack a man's shirt before the man himself! Fucking inconsiderate- _mmf!_" I quiet your next insult, swallowing the sound and earning a nip to my tongue. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth- terrifying as I'm not bothered by the wound, but by the overwhelming urgency for _more _that's elicited from the rough treatment. It seems you're affected in some similar fashion if the erratic thrusts your hips have begun are any indication.

_You and I are sick…_

"We can't do this anymore," I gasp when you bite down on the junction between my neck and shoulder.

I can feel your smile against my skin as your hands find the inside of my trousers. "Can't do what, _Harry?_"

"_Fuck,_" I hiss, and yank your face back to mine by your hair. Your growl sounds appreciative and I nearly forget my argument. Suddenly, with a strength I've never possessed until this moment, I push you away and stalk towards my living room, wiping your taste from my lips on the back of my hands.

"Come on, Potter! What is the problem here?"

I collapse atop an overused loveseat and you follow, not bothering to feel even moderately obtrusive in lying in the very same spot I occupy. I release a huff of air as your full weight registers. No matter how I turn to shake you, you remain firmly in place.

Stuck on my body like a tattoo.

"Really, though. You do this every time and we end up right back here. Why can't we skip the brooding and just get to fucking? We're headed there anyway!"

It's a sound case. Not a flaw in sight. The only trouble is: I'm not entirely up for affairs anymore.

"One more night," you offer. "Just one more night and you can go back to normal?"

I know if I let you stay I'll wake up in the morning hating myself- satisfied, but probably guilty as hell. Truth of the matter is, though, I know I'll come crawling back to you.

So, feeling a routine stupidity, I sigh in surrender.

"Cross my heart and hope to die, Draco- you're only staying one more night."

You smile that infuriating half grin I'm sublimely attracted to and lick a stripe from the center of my chest to the hollow at the base of my throat.

"Of course."

And I know I've said it a million times, but when the last few articles of clothing disappear between us, I'm forced to consider maybe one more night…

Just _one_ more night.

* * *

Thanks for reading.

Love Always.


End file.
